


Bon Voyage

by rosetwopointoh



Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, I couldn't resist using a Jawagram, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:23:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosetwopointoh/pseuds/rosetwopointoh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corso goes away for a few days. Jaax'a's left to her own devices without her man. Somewhat of a side story to my main fic "Stolen Moments", but far in their future. Takes place after the majority of the Smuggler/Corso romance and after the Hoth story quests, but not really any spoilers.</p><p>PWP. Really. Honestly. "Dialogue" included.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bon Voyage

**Author's Note:**

> My plot bunnies have been doing exactly this, lately. A couple of them that didn't fit in Stolen Moments simply needed writing to get out of my brain, so, my dear readers, here you are.

Jaax’a rubbed her face with her hands. Corso was entirely capable of this on his own, she knew; it was simple enough--tag along with a shipment of smuggled weapons to get them into the Balmorran resistance’s hands instead of the Empire’s. Since their own mission to Balmorra to help Ord Mantell with the Separatists had gone so cock-eyed--it led them to kill the husband of one of the more prominent resistance fighters while he was undercover as an Imperial--Corso had felt honor-bound to help how he could, and Jaax’a didn’t have the heart to stop him. Plus, she agreed with him.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to worry while the fool man was gone.

She was back on the Fleet for ship maintenance after spending too long on Hoth; _not that that any time spent there is less than too much._ Akaavi, Mandalorian through and through, had been almost... gleeful about the ferocious beasts encountered there, though. Wampas, ice cats... Jaax’a supposed her heritage might have made her a little more resistant to the cold. _Or maybe it’s that fiery personality._ Regardless, Akaavi Spar was a good woman to have at her back.

Her mind returned to Corso. Stubborn man. He’d written while he was gone, a short missive containing what he claimed was an attempt at a poem. She reminded herself to tell him that she preferred prose, herself. _In person, preferably._

“He will return,” Akaavi said, regarding her steadily with those pale eyes. “He is steadfast.”

“I know,” Jaax’a told her partner, who’d been resolutely intimidating every sentient being in a thirty-foot radius for the past twenty minutes while the smuggler’d been haggling over the cost of a new power crystal for the woman’s techstaff. “Maybe he’ll be at the hangar when we get back.”

“If so, I will stay elsewhere,” Akaavi said in whatever passed for a dry tone, and Jaax’a laughed. The woman, odd as she could be to normal humanoid standards--whatever _those_ were--was quite forthright in her approach to “the gentler arts”, as she put it. _Not that it’s always..._ gentle.

Oh, she hoped not. Corso’d been gone nearly ten days, and ever since he’d managed to sneak his way into her withered smuggler’s heart and reawaken her woman’s soul, she’d been catching up on years of missed opportunities and experiments with him. Not that he complained. No, not at all.

Well, maybe there was that once...

Akaavi shook her head and examined the power crystal, turning it over in her hands. “You have done well,” she said, holding it to the light. Jaax’a had finally managed to get Akaavi to explain, months after coming aboard, that many translations of phrases from Mando’a to Basic merely sounded commanding without necessarily being meant that way. Didn’t make it any less terrifying for anyone facing down the business end of one Akaavi Spar, though, and she was _all_ business. The captain knew that much very, very well.

As it was, they were on their way to the cantina for a bite to eat when Jaax’a’s holocomm chirped. Corso’s face appeared, and Jaax’a smiled, grateful to see it was still unmarked. His news, however, wasn’t so uplifting, and she sighed to see it was a prerecorded message.

 _“Hey, Jaax,”_ his blue reflection said, smiling. _“All clear in Balmorra, but my transport’s having trouble with its dampners... we’re having to stop for repairs and the comm channel isn’t so hot, so they’re only letting us send prerecords. I’ll be home as soon as I can. I love you.”_

Jaax’a sighed and looked at Akaavi, who had been engaging in a staring contest with a Zabrak who was staring for a different reason altogether. The Mandalorian glanced over at her captain, expressionless as always. “You know, Spar, there’s one thing we haven’t done together in all this time.”

“What is this?” Akaavi said. “My guns itch. I would enjoy target practice.”

“How ‘bout we target a decent bottle of whiskey?”

Akaavi’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever drank with one of Mandalore, Captain?”

“Nope. Don’t tell me it’s a bad idea, either.”

“I will refrain.” Akaavi made a hint of a face that Jaax’a considered her equivalent of rolling her eyes and followed the smuggler to the cantina, where their bite to eat was quickly replaced with a very alcoholic liquid lunch.

 

Akaavi was entirely too composed for having consumed over half the bottle of whiskey, Jaax’a decided, her world swirling only a little more than she liked. _Actually, it was closer to two-thirds,_ she thought numbly. The Mandalorian had, however, opened up a little, telling Jaax’a about her own lover whom she’d left not long before meeting the captain after her clan’s framed killing.

They stumbled--well, Jaax’a did; Akaavi just walked a little more slowly than usual--out of the cantina and towards the elevator to their hangar. It made several stops to let others in and out, some clearly heading to the cantina, others in similar or worse states than Jaax’a. Exiting the elevator, they wound through the maze that would lead them to the _Sunsoarer,_ Jaax’a’s head clearing a little once they were into the relatively fresher air. Not that any of the air on Carrick Station was fresh, but it was something.

Akaavi typed the unlock code into the hangar bay panel and the door opened; they strode across the gap into the bay and the door hissed shut. A Jawa was lingering by a crate; upon seeing them, he babbled and pulled out flowers, running to her.

“A Jawagram _?_ ” Jaax’a said. “You got a secret admirer, Akaavi?”

“For you!” the Jawa squeaked, and waved the bouquet at her. Jaax’a took the flowers, glancing sideways at Akaavi, who was expressionless, as usual.

“Thank you,” Jaax’a said to the Jawa, wondering why in the galaxy a Jawa was here on Carrick Station, but thankful for the mysterious flowers all the same. She dug in her pocket, finding some droid part she’d picked up somewhere, and handed it to the robed scavenger. The Jawa scampered off, gleeful over the scrap metal.

“That was kind,” Akaavi observed impassively, and Jaax’a raised an eyebrow in the Mandalorian’s direction before shaking her head and heading for the _Sunsoarer._ She didn’t spare a second thought after seeing Risha and Bowdaar both working on projects outside the ship, or notice that Akaavi hadn’t followed her up the ramp.

Waiting, in C2’s usual place, was none other than one Corso Riggs, holding a bottle of wine and clad in her favorite casual clothing in his closet: snug tan pants and a half-unbuttoned dark green shirt that definitely highlighted some of the more physical aspects of why she liked him so much. His dreads were pulled back, as usual, and he was smiling, teeth white and glinting in the light, eyes merry.

Suddenly, it fell into place: why Akaavi had, out of the blue, requested to go with her on her trip to hunt for weapon mods when the woman was perfectly capable of selecting and purchasing a power crystal on her own; for drawing out the drinking in the cantina for as long as she did and for drinking so much of that damned bottle when Jaax’a was quite determined to get thoroughly sloshed; her complete lack of reaction when the Jawa appeared. Why Risha and Bowdaar were in the hangar, why Guss had disappeared entirely several hours prior.

They’d all been in on it.

“I can’t believe you’d _do_ that to me!” she said, half-climbing, half-jumping the remaining stairs, tottering more than a little.

“What, lie a little?” he teased, grinning.

“And... and... a _Jawagram_?!”

“What can I say, darlin’, I’m a romantic.”

She didn’t know whether to hit or kiss him, but decided on the former, slapping his chest so hard her fingers stung. He laughed, eyes sparkling, catching her wrist in his free hand. “Hope you like your flowers.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, giddy and grinning like a fool.

“Roses, just like I said.” She flashed back to the conversation they’d had, months and months ago. _“Does that mean... roses, love letters, and sneaking kisses before we’re supposed to?”_

He’d managed it all, indeed.

She stepped forward and kissed him, her arms pushed behind her awkwardly, one held back and the other gripping her roses and keeping them out of harm’s way; he released her wrist to wrap his arm around her instead. Wrapped up in each other, they didn’t notice the hatch hissing closed, courtesy of Risha, who’d also done a bit of manipulative coding to keep C2 out of their hair until otherwise informed.

Tasting the whiskey on her tongue, he murmured against her lips, “Mmm... guess we might not be opening this quite yet.” He wasn’t able to resist another taste, sliding his tongue along hers slowly.

“Can it wait an hour or two?” She kissed him again, softly, lingering, drawing a sharp tug of longing from every cell he had.

“I can’t,” he murmured, brushing his lips gently against hers, and she felt evidence of such impatience against her hip.

“Me neither,” she whispered, heart thrumming in her throat, and he thrust the bottle into her free hand, then scooped her up in his arms. Her arms linked around his neck.

“Never got t’do this,” he said as he carried her to their cabin, adding a spin for good measure. “Always wanted to.” 

The cabin door was open, the lights dim, and candles--real ones--flickered in every corner; there was a water-filled ceramic container sitting on her desk, ready to receive the roses. A faint spiced scent filled the room, and she recognized it quickly as kin to the scent he’d wear on the rare occasions they wandered streets and cantinas together for fun, not shooting. He wasn’t playing fair; he knew the spicy, woodsy scent drove her blood pressure through the roof. The bed was far neater than Jaax’a had left it that morning, and she guessed he’d remade it, military-style, snug enough to bounce a credit off of, just how she liked it... when they were about to ruin it, of course.

“Oh, Corso,” she said, in awe. He set her down on the bed and she smelled crisp freshness enveloping her as she sank into the pillows: he’d not only made the bed, he’d put down new sheets entirely.

He knew she was a sucker for getting fresh sheets dirty.

He gently plucked the roses and wine out of her hands, delivered them to her desk, and returned, kicking off his shoes, slipping off her boots and socks, and climbing on to the bed with her, covering her with his body, nosing at her jaw, behind her ear, brushing his lips along the curved shell. “Happy anniversary, my heart,” he whispered.

She’d been trying not to think about how his trip to Balmorra would have him missing this particular date. _How has it been a year, already?_

“A year since you asked to seek my hand,” she murmured, sliding her hands under his shirt, feeling the rippling muscle of his back. “How?”

“I dunno, but I’m not complainin’,” he said, voice roughening with desire, dropping his head to her neck and suckling, aiming to leave a mark. “S’been fun.”

She laughed. “Fun is a good way to put it.” Her fingers had shifted, seeking out the buttons of his shirt; it fell open, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest to her, alternately tensing and softening as he moved above her. He obliged her as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, picking up one arm, then the next, helping her slide it off as he kissed and nipped at her skin, landing on her lips.

This particular clothing-dance was one they did regularly, when a mission brought them home--or to a secluded spot in nature--with heated blood and singing veins, and so it was with ease that Corso unzipped her jacket and helped her abandon it, right arm, then left, then arching her back so he could slip her tank top up to her armpits; she shimmied her arms out of it, then broke the kiss just long enough to slip it over her head and chuck it at the wall. Corso slid a hand behind her and she lifted her back again so he could unsnap her bra, then efficiently tug her jacket out from under her while she tossed her bra off the bed. Skin to skin at last they sighed as her breasts tightened, nipples pebbling against his chest, the sensation of his warm skin against her cooler, often goose-bumped body just as shiver-worthy as always. He reached down to unfasten her pants, taking a moment to separate their chests as he propped himself up on one knee to peel her out of them, taking her panties along, and as soon as she was naked she reached for his own belt, unbuckling it and sliding him out of the snug fabric that enclosed his tightly muscled ass and glorious erection.

It was just as eager as always, bobbing out in front of him and gleaming with precum already. He’d foregone boxers-- _wise man_ \--and Jaax’a used her feet to shove his pants to his knees; he kicked them off from there and then they were tangled together hungrily, long limbs winding around each other as they briefly struggled for dominance over the other.

Corso was heavier and had the advantage of being able to wholly interrupt her fight to roll him over by brushing the head of his cock against her slick, swollen lips, but she was lithe and quick and not above fighting dirty. They came to a stalemate, facing each other on their sides.

“Not givin’ up, are ya, darlin’?” he asked, husky and panting.

“Not on your life,” she said, flashing him a sneaky grin just before she kissed him, hard, her tongue demanding entrance; he wavered just long enough for her to flip him over. She shifted so she hovered over him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I’ve been wanting this all day,” she purred, thighs quivering.

“Wantin’ what?”

His question was answered when she sank down on him without preamble, head thrown back and back arched against the sensation of his thick length spearing into her depths. Corso groaned and his hands reached up to hold her breasts as they swayed with her motions, thumbs swiping over their peaks. As she rose back up over him, the walls of her passage gripping him tightly, he swore in what she thought was Huttese.

 _Stang,_ but she’d missed this.

Shortly their worlds shrank to only include the other, Jaax’a’s strong thighs lifting her above his aching cock, gravity assisting her slide back down to envelop all of him within her pussy. _Oh_ but it was good; his size stretched her, dove deeper within her with each thrust as his hips rose to meet her; she rotated and ground her clit against him as she reached his pelvis, and his hands dropped to her hips to hold her steady while he bucked against her, one thumb sliding down to flick over the folds of skin that hid her most sensitive spot from view.

She was gorgeous as she rode him, sweat beading across her face and chest, looking down at where they joined and biting her lower lip when she held herself up for a few short thrusts, not taking all of him. He flicked his gaze back and forth between her beatific face and the crux of their joining, how his length disappeared into her over and over again, sliding home between the slickness of her walls, exhaling sharply as she took him deep into her body. She was quivering, so far gone into her desire he didn’t think she knew how she was crying out, begging all that was holy. He’d made some preparations of his own, earlier, and was holding on to his orgasm with rather more ease than she.

“Jaax,” he groaned. “Fuck, Jaax, let me kiss you.”

She blinked at him, then leaned down, and he captured her lips hungrily, tongues tangling, nipping at her lips; he planted his feet on the bed and met her thrusts, going deeper, if that was possible. She moaned against him. “Oh stars, Corso,” she whispered, planting her hands above his shoulders and pushing back against him. “Oh, fuck.” He recognized the look on her face; she was growing desperate for release, her body too wound up to let go. It happened, sometimes. Luckily, Corso had the remedy.

He flipped them over to only mild protestation; she whined quite loudly when he pulled out of her and scrabbled at the bed to get back to him, but he was quicker, replacing his cock with three fingers and his tongue. Her aggravation turned to whimpers as he stroked her quickly with his hand, coaxing more sensation out of her, his tongue flicking firmly over her clit; she started to spasm, slowly, and she squirmed, moaning, begging. That quickly turned to hard clenches of her inner walls against him and she pleaded with him. “Please, Corso, _please--_ I need you-- _please,_ oh, fuck _\--_ ”

He obliged, pausing only to ensure he was aligned with her before sliding in again, hard, sighing in relief as her tight heat enveloped him and put him right where he wanted to be. She locked her legs around him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he smiled: she knew what he was up to.

“Are you ready, baby?” he asked in her ear, rolling his hips, pleasuring her just enough to keep her senses heightened.

“Oh, _fuck_ yes,” she groaned, trying to catch his lips to kiss him, but he moved away.

“Yes, what?” he asked, pausing, and she wriggled, aching for more stimulation.

“Yes, please,” she whined, panting. “Please, Corso, fuck me.”

It was a little game they played, one that was always successful. “Are you sure, darlin’?” he asked, teasing, punctuating his words with firm thrusts that drew sharp gasps from her chest.

“Oh, stars yes,” she said, voice thick and rough. “Oh, Corso, fuck me. _Please._ ”

He thrust into her slowly, leaving her eyelids fluttering and nose flaring as she sucked in air. “Are you ready... for me... to fuck you? With my cock? In your pussy?”

“ _Oh,_ Corso, _please_ fuck... fuck me...”

He was shaking hard from resisting her pleas, knowing it was worth drawing out but he didn’t think there was anything sexier in the world than her begging. “Do you want it?” he asked her, hitching his hips with each thrust.

“I want... I want you...”

“To what?” His voice was sharp and raspy, rumbling from deep in his chest.

She was barely coherent, so close to her orgasm it was maddening. “I want... you to... make me come, Corso. Ffff.... fucking come in my ffffucking cunt.”

“You want me to come inside of you? To fill you... all up?” He was stroking her harder now, control slipping.

“Yes-- _yes, yes--oh,_ Corso!” Her body started clenching around him and she moaned, whining with each thrust, and he knew she was done for; the switch had been flipped and it was just a matter of seconds before she’d crash, hard, into her orgasm. He wanted to come with her, or as close as he could manage it.

He let loose the breath he’d been half-holding and fucked her, hard, kissing her hungrily as she spiraled tighter and tighter. The spasms of her muscles around his cock were almost enough to send him to join her; she tangled her hands in his dreads and held his mouth to hers for a long moment, then pulled his head away as she nearly screamed his name, her body finally having had enough. Her orgasm, clenching hard against him with every muscle she had, was enough to trigger his, and he thrust deep within her and spilled over, groaning, vision going black and body turning to rubber.

She was limp beneath him when he could see again, lax against the bed, eyes closed, chest heaving. She whimpered gently as he pulled out of her and rolled to lay beside her; her hand weakly sought out his and she tipped her head to rest against his shoulder.

“I love you,” she mumbled, words slurred.

“Mmmm,” he replied, sleep already tugging at him. “You too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now, wasn't that fun?
> 
> For kicks: I dare you to write something involving a Jawagram, Party Jawa, etc.


End file.
